


The Holmes Boys At Play

by LadyGlinda



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BAMF Mrs. Hudson, Banter, Bickering, Consensual Kink, Established Relationship, Fluff, Jealous Mycroft, M/M, Mycroft IS the British Government, Mycroft is 37, No Eurus Holmes, Not Canon Compliant, Oblivious John, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Roleplay, Sexual Roleplay, Shameless Smut, Sherlock is 30, Sherlock is Not a Virgin, Sherlock is a Brat, Sibling Incest, Some Humor, Spanking, holmescest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-17
Updated: 2018-10-18
Packaged: 2019-08-03 12:29:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16326266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyGlinda/pseuds/LadyGlinda
Summary: The Holmes brothers like to play a certain game. Bickering leads to spanking. Spanking leads to sex.





	1. Naughty Sherlock

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MezzaMorta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MezzaMorta/gifts).



> My first attempt at writing spanking. I totally blame that on the lovely MezzaMorta. I hope you enjoy!

## Roleplay

 

Sherlock was high. Not on drugs of course but on his own brilliance. Once more he had solved a case the police would have never solved on their own, helpless imbeciles that they were.

He could hear John sigh next to him while he was flouncing around, gesticulating at the bloody male corpse that was lying face-down on the pavement, while six policemen were standing in a circle, gaping at him in well-deserved amazement. They would be nothing without his cleverness – N.O.T.H.I.N.G.!

“That is amazing,” Lestrade said with huge eyes, and Sherlock nodded.

“I know. And did you notice…” Sherlock went on and on until John, the old spoilsport, cleared his throat.

“You know this is all really fascinating but we should head back to Baker Street. I'm sure there are clients waiting for being saved by your ingenious mind.”

Sherlock glared at him. Had this been sarcasm? How dare he!

John just smiled indifferently.

“Alright then – you're sure you'll manage on your own now?” Sherlock asked the DI.

The silver-haired man nodded. “Yes. Thanks to you, we'll have the killer in no time. You are really…”

“Yes, Greg, don't blow up his ego even more,” John snarled. “It's bad enough as it is.”

Sherlock snorted and turned to leave. They would have to walk over to the main street to get a cab home. But then he saw a suspicious black limousine approaching them. He sighed theatrically. “Oh no…,” thinking _'oh yes!'_

“Oh, that's Mycroft, isn't it?” John had appeared at his side.

“You can bet on it,” Sherlock said darkly, his pulse elevating when the car stopped and the driver hurried to the back door to open it up.

And of course it was his brother who elegantly stepped out of the car. Dressed in black all over, complete with a black coat and his long, black umbrella hanging from his left arm, he looked like the Angel of Death, Sherlock thought with no little amusement. Impeccable, shiny black hair, black mood, judging from the sour expression on his face, black suit, black shoes and certainly also black socks and pants. The only thing that wasn't black apart from his blue eyes and his pale skin was the yellow folder he was holding in his right hand – which was covered by a black glove.

Sherlock swallowed when his brother waved the folder.

“Good that I caught you. Sherlock, Doctor Watson.”

'Caught'! As if he didn’t always know where Sherlock was…

“Hello Mycroft. Got work for us?” John asked.

Sherlock shook his head vehemently. “No way. We're busy. Come over in two hours, brother, perhaps we'll have time for you then.”

Mycroft rolled his eyes in the way only he could. “Nice try. You will take care of this. Now.”

“Or what?” Sherlock's voice was pure petulance. “You take our souls, Prince of Darkness?”

There was just the tiniest amused twitch around the corners of his brother's mouth, so brief that Sherlock would have missed it if he had blinked. “Or I'll find ways to punish you. For your appalling behaviour you deserve that anyway.” The icy blue eyes of the British Government were all stern exasperation and his voice snake-like coldness.

A prickly shudder ran down Sherlock's spine but his expression didn’t change. “Oh really?” he all but purred in his deepest baritone.

Mycroft raised his left eyebrow in slight reprimand. But then he rolled up the folder and repeatedly slapped it against his glove-covered palm, his eyes never leaving Sherlock's face. Sherlock stared at the meeting of paper and black leather, following the movements of the folder, back and forth, his mouth getting dry, his eyes dazed.

“It's okay, Mycroft, we'll do it,” John said, sounding more than a tad fed up, as usual completely missing the undertones.

Sherlock tore his eyes away from his brother's provocative actions to cast his partner an exasperated look. “No, we…”

“Thank you, Doctor Watson,” Mycroft said triumphantly, ignoring Sherlock completely, and handed the folder over to John.

“If we take care of your soddy stuff, I'll expect a reward,” Sherlock hissed.

“That will be arranged,” was the cool reply.

An uncontrollable part of Sherlock's body twitched twice in quick succession. Mycroft briefly glanced down on his body, the hint of a smirk on his lips, before he turned to stalk back to the waiting car.

“You could at least give us a lift!” Sherlock shouted after him but Mycroft just waved his hand without looking back.

“Different direction, sorry,” he said in a tone that didn’t sound apologetic at all.

“Bah!”

“Come, Sherlock. Let's get a cab. And this sounds interesting.” John had already glanced at the papers.

“Interesting! His cases are _never_ interesting!” As Mycroft mostly made them up, they really weren't…

“It involves a rogue ex-agent, fast cars, a raccoon and lots of money.”

Sherlock's heart made a pleasant jump. That sounded promising indeed! This was his lucky day! He suppressed fist pumping the air and made sure his expression didn’t change a bit. “Boring!” he insisted. “But since you've told him we would do it… Give it to me.”

John handed the folder over. “You can as well admit that it's something to pass the time! You and your brother – will you never get tired of bicker around?”

Sherlock shook his head with conviction. “Never, John! This will never happen!” he said absolutely truthfully.

 

## Foreplay

 

Sherlock was very happy with himself when he was standing in front of Mycroft's house six hours later. He had solved the really challenging case, assisted by John, within three hours and then texted the results to his brother.

He was a bit upset though that John hadn't agreed on keeping the raccoon as a pet as it had been such a funny and cuddly chap, but Sherlock had reluctantly admitted that it might be in better hands at the shelter for wild animals they had brought it to, and probably Mrs Hudson would have thrown all three of them out of the house if they had taken it home. These people didn’t have any humour!

Speaking of that…

He rang the doorbell. He did have a key but he never used it. Mycroft should get up his arse and open the door for him. He was here to collect his reward. And his punishment. Hard to tell the difference anyway… because of course the punishment was already the start of the reward…  They were basically all the same.

As expected, Mycroft let him wait a couple of minutes. Sherlock almost destroyed the bell button when he pressed it a second time. It was rather cold and he had better things to do than standing around outside. _Much_ better things!

Finally the door was opened up, provokingly slowly. “Yes?” Mycroft asked with raised eyebrows. He was dressed in a purple dressing gown with nothing under it than loose, black home trousers. His usual after-work-outfit when he was awaiting Sherlock. It never ceased to make Sherlock's mouth water but he didn’t show it.

Sherlock pushed the door open, making him stumble backwards in a rather undignified and even the more satisfying way. “Finally! I wasn’t aware you are so old it takes you ages to get to the door!”

“I was busy.”

“I bet. Drinking or wanking?”

“You're appalling!”

Sherlock just snorted and stalked to the stairs to climb them.

“So eager to be punished?” Mycroft mocked him from behind.

“Rewarded, brother! I did solve your case, didn’t I?” Sherlock was taking two steps at a time.

“You did but your demeanour when I asked you for it was revolting!” Mycroft was keeping up.

“Pah! You didn’t _ask_! You _demanded_ it!”

“As it is my privilege,” claimed Mycroft.

Sherlock made a nasty gesture with his hand, throwing him a cheeky look over his shoulder, and Mycroft grimaced in utter disgust even though he couldn’t quite suppress the amused glitter in his eyes.

They raced through the corridor, and when they reached the large bedroom, Sherlock stormed into it, threw what he had brought onto the bed and slipped out of his coat to fling it carelessly onto the floor.

Oh, how much Sherlock loved this foreplay! All their meetings were nothing else than foreplay! Until the real game started, of course. And now was the time for it. There hadn't been an opportunity for more than a week thanks to a very demanding work schedule on Mycroft's side and a case that had occupied Sherlock and John for two nights. How long these days and nights had felt…

“I brought you back the folder.” He pointed at the yellow thing.

“Much obliged. I don't need it anymore though. Not for the case. But I might find another purpose for it.”

Sherlock hurried to get rid of his clothes. There wasn't any time to waste. His cock had already started filling out in anticipation when he had entered the house.

“Dirty little brother, getting hard at the thought he's going to get punished…” Mycroft stared at his now completely naked body, only slightly licking his lips.

“Rewarded!”

“Whatever…” Mycroft took off his dressing gown but not his trousers, and then he climbed onto the bed without removing the blanket, sitting in the middle of it, his back leaning against the backrest for stabilisation requirements.

Sherlock recalled that one night when he had fallen from the bed, right on his head. It had been a pain in the arse to explain the bump on his forehead to everybody… And the headache had been a bloody mood killer… There had been getting-better-kisses instead of sex. Nice of course but not what he had come for. Kisses were for later, not instead. Not when the mood said 'play'.

“What is this going to be?” he asked Mycroft, all outraged younger brother.

“Give me the folder!”

Sherlock scowled but handed it over.

“And now get over to me, across my lap, legs stretched!”

“No way!” Sherlock folded his arms, glaring at him. His cock had gotten even harder at the order and he could feel it starting to leak.

“I won't tell you again! Take your punishment like a man! I'll show you lipping off to me when I tell you to do something!”

 “Nasty big brother!”

“Very! And now come before I get up and make you!”

Sherlock cursed him in French, making Mycroft chuckle before returning to his role, and then he took his position, taking the opportunity to rub his hard dick over Mycroft's silky-clothed thigh, feeling his brother's matching erection poking against his stomach.

“Stay still! No making my trousers sticky! Time for your discipline!”

“Ah, soddy paper folder! As if I was afraid of that!”

“Ha, you'll regret that! I'll give you fifty!”

“Fifty! Filthy man!” Sherlock turned his head to glare at him.

“Silence now or I might lose count and give you a hundred!” Mycroft rolled the folder up and repeated his action of slapping it against his now uncovered palm.

Sherlock buried his face in his folded arms and shuddered and grinned when a hand teased his arse cheeks. But that was it with the tenderness for now… He took a deep breath.

 

## Folder-Play

 

Many years ago, Mycroft had let Sherlock made the first step, playing hard to get when baby brother had shown up on his doorstep with a seductive grin at the tender age of twenty, right after his drug-experiment-days had been done. Of course the little beast had known very well that Mycroft had been leering after him for the best part of five years by then and was hopelessly in love with him, but he had played along, trying to convince Mycroft, who had barely been able to refrain from fucking Sherlock through the living room, that they were meant for each other because a) they were so much smarter than everybody else, b) would be totally bored with another partner and c) were Holmeses so the stupid rules of the boring majority didn’t have to bother them.

Of course Mycroft had agreed on everything even though the rules-part was obviously more logical to Sherlock, who thought that rules were made to be broken by him anyway. But of course he would have never bothered himself with some boring piece of flesh he had nothing in common with.

Sherlock was so smart and fascinating and deliciously annoying with his 'fuck the world' attitude and his brattish arrogance, and over the following weeks Mycroft had discovered that when his little brother was in the right mood, he was in fact still as nice and tender and cuddly as he had been as a child, and Mycroft's heart kept on melting at his baby brother's sweetness that nobody else ever got to see, not even John 'Best Friend' Watson.

But when he was looking down now on these gorgeous, scandalously plush arse cheeks, luringly wobbling on his lap in anticipation, he had to admit that Sherlock's physical attributes were nearly as important to him as his brilliance and his good heart – which Sherlock knew very well.

Sherlock was just stunning – not only his precious arse. He was all long limbs and defined muscles, all smooth, flawless skin and beautiful eyes and kissable lips and dangerously sharp cheekbones, and he had a long, pink cock to die for, made for Mycroft's sucking pleasures. And Mycroft simply lived for fucking and licking this pink, wrinkled little hole between these fleshy cushions.

But he had to complete the game before he got to these pleasures! Sherlock had given him the order by being as brattish as he could get. And now he would get his punishment-reward for being a pain in the arse and the best detective this world had ever seen plus the man Mycroft loved beyond anything.

They had played this game for years now and the rules were clear. Provocation that required discipline and a safeword if things got too painful or a change of mind occurred. Very easy indeed. Even though Mycroft couldn’t remember that a safeword had been uttered once in all these years… There was no malice in this after all; it was all about desire and trust and fun, and both of them were always enjoying themselves tremendously. And of course there were times when they just had 'normal' sex right from the start, accompanied by whispered words of love, and they both loved this just as much.

But now wasn’t the time for tenderness. It was the time for ruthless(ish) revenge for Sherlock's well-rehearsed impertinence.

He let the rolled-up folder meet Sherlock's fine arse probingly. His brother just snorted.

“Is that all you can pull off? Pathetic!”

The second blow was distinctively harder and Sherlock winced before faking a yawn.

“Boring. Just be careful that you don't cut me with the silly paper.”

Mycroft grinned and then he started thrashing Sherlock in earnest – as earnest as he could hit with a thin folder, containing a few pieces of paper. He counted each blow, commenting from time to time. While he was delivering his punishment, he admiringly watched the edible cheeks turning pink and then red. The folder was much too harmless to cause any damage but it did the deed when applied with enough force…

“Three – that will show you to tell me to come back later!” he growled, trying to sound serious.

“Ouch! I’ll sue you!”

“Six – being all lippy and impertinent!”

“Stop that at once!”

“Ten – no respect for your older brother, you brattish boy!”

“Brutal big brother!”

“Eighteen – that will teach you to be compliant next time!” Mycroft listened closely to Sherlock's ranting, ready to stop as soon as Sherlock uttered his safeword 'Penguin'. But of course it didn't come, and he could feel Sherlock's cock getting harder and harder against his thigh with every blow.

“I loathe you!” Sherlock hissed most unconvincingly.

“Thirty – bad baby brother! Take that!”

“Bloody folder!” His little brother was so getting off on this…

“Forty – do you regret being so nasty now?!”

“No! Nasty little-brother-beater!”

“Forty-eight – spoiled little brat!”

“I’ll bite your hand off if you don’t stop at once!”

“Forty-nine – will you admit you had it coming already?”  His arm was getting tired now and his tone sounded a little pleading.

“All right! I was a brat and deserve it!” Sherlock confessed to his relief.

“Fifty! And finished!” he finally hissed, letting his arm sink. It was shaking from the efforts.

Sherlock groaned into the blanket theatrically. “Poor, sorry Lock…” he mumbled, his backside a bright shade of red-pink now.

Mycroft ran his left hand soothingly over the heated skin. “There you have it – your punishment.” His voice was hoarse now, loaded with feelings and desire. His cock was throbbing under his brother's body.

“Yes… Make it better?”

Mycroft urged his brother to lie on his side next to him. “Make it all better,” he promised. “You okay?” he asked quietly, stroking Sherlock's cheekbone.

A smile to lighten up London in the darkest night was directed at him. “Very. Not bad for a soddy folder in the hands of a pencil-pusher!”

His hand being busy rubbing Sherlock's hot bottom, Mycroft robbed closer to the beautiful man next to him and kissed these luring lips. “Enjoyed that, right? Being beaten by big brother?”

Sherlock giggled. “Don't give up your day job to do poetry, Mycroft. But yes…” He thrust his hips forward so his hard dick pushed against Mycroft's still clothed groin. “Feel that?”

“Oh yes.”

“And what are you going to do about it?”

Mycroft pretended to think about it. “Give you your reward, I think. Clever boy that you are, solving my case so quickly.”

“Oh, please!” Sherlock pulled at Mycroft's trousers and he obediently wiggled out of them.

Then he kissed his brother's nose. “How do you want it?”

Sherlock's glorious eyes were sparkling. “Surprise me.”

“With pleasure,” big brother crooned.

 

## Naughty Play

 

A few seconds later Sherlock was draped all over the bed like the prize that he was, lying on his stomach. Mycroft had put a pillow under his groin, giving his hard, leaking cock a soft cushion, and now he was kneeling between Sherlock's widely spread legs and put his hands gently on the reddened cheeks.

“Oh, look at you…” He bent down and licked a stripe over the glowing globe.

Sherlock hissed and wiggled. “Stings!”

“No, baby brother, lick it all better.” And he did. He covered his brother's burning arse with cool saliva, licking every inch, making Sherlock groan in pleasure. After humouring himself and Sherlock for a couple of minutes like this, he very carefully spread the cheeks to reveal the quivering opening between them.

“Oh, nice,” he cooed as if seeing it for the first time. He very well remembered the actual first time. Sherlock had been kneeling on the bed and he had gaped at the gaping opening – and shot over Sherlock's calves…

Over the last ten years, he had managed to control himself but the sight was still enough to make his cock pulse out a bead of clear fluid. The poor thing couldn’t wait to get buried in Sherlock's canal. But it would have to wait some more.

Without any further hesitation Mycroft plunged his face into Sherlock's crack and put his usually sharp tongue to very good use – licking up and down the cleft and then circling his hole just to dip his tongue eventually. High on Sherlock's highly arousing taste of salty, sweet musk, he listened to his brother's shameless moaning and cursing while he was pushing his tongue deeper and deeper into him, letting it gyrate in the impossibly tight opening expertly.

He could feel Sherlock rub against the pillow heftily, desperately searching for friction.

When he had no spit left in his mouth, he pulled out and urged Sherlock to get onto his hands and knees. He reached under one of the pillows to grab the small bottle of lube he had placed there earlier in the evening, and let a generous amount dribble onto Sherlock's clenching hole, just to work it in with fore- and middle-finger, opening him up carefully in the go.

Sherlock was cursing louder now, a little stream of sweat running down his spine, his round balls red and swollen between his legs.

Mycroft would have loved to drag it out but Sherlock needed hard stimulation, back and front, and he demanded it now, and so he coated his very ready dick and pressed the wide, red crown against his brother's lube-sticky anus. In fascination he watched the muscle twitch, opening and closing against his wet slit. He pushed a little harder, and then his sensitive knob was welcomed by hot, sticky, tight heat, the thin red skin stretching around it beautifully.

Sherlock hissed at the intrusion, and then pushed backwards, being his impatient self.

“Hold still!” Mycroft admonished him, afraid he could shoot his load into Sherlock's body at once at the rough penetration. There were limits to his self-control when in bed with baby brother.

Sherlock grumbled something and Mycroft hurried to add more lube before slowly pushing further inside. His thighs were trembling and so were Sherlock's, both men aroused beyond anything.

He grabbed Sherlock's slim hips and started fucking him, slowly and gently at first, and after getting shouted at to get on with it, harder and deeper, losing himself in the incredible feeling of being connected with his little brother in the most satisfying and most scandalous way, listening to the clashing of his thighs against Sherlock's wobbling cheeks rhythmically.

“Touch me!” Sherlock howled, and he chuckled and reached around to take hold of his brother's rock-hard cock, masturbating him with his full hand in the harsh rhythm of his now relentlessly rough strokes.

He watched himself sliding deep in and almost completely out, teasing the stretched skin around his prick with his fingers, which made Sherlock growl deep down his throat.

The feeling was so overwhelming that he could have gone on forever, and he knew Sherlock would have loved it, but eventually the stimulation was too much and he felt the orgasm ripping through his body. With a loud scream he emptied his balls into his brother's arse, pumping his cock harder than ever, and Sherlock followed him over the edge within the blink of an eye, shooting all over the bed, and he only kept staying on his knees because Mycroft was holding him up.

He pulled out when his dick softened, and watched with hungry eyes how his essence started dribbling out of his brother's red, used hole. He caught it with his right hand, rubbed it into the creamy, pink skin of Sherlock's arse, and then he let him go so he collapsed with an 'oof' into the mess on the bed. Mycroft joined him and pulled him against his chest, nuzzling his face into Sherlock's sweaty curls, his heart still hammering, feeling spent and completely at ease.

 

## Tender Play

 

After a moment of lying calmly like this, Sherlock turned around in his grip to face him. He embraced Mycroft's neck and the brothers shared a smile, and then finally – finally! – Sherlock kissed him on the mouth in earnest, invaded it with his tongue, tasting and claiming him.

The kiss lasted for minutes while the duvet under Sherlock as well as his stomach got crusty with drying cum, but he couldn’t have cared less. He knew Mycroft would take care of the mess so his bed would look impeccable for his housekeeper – later, when he was gone. There was no staying over, no waking up together. This was what they had – naughty games and sex in stolen moments, tenderness nobody knew about.

“Hey,” he said when they had to stop kissing to fill their lungs with more than a tiny bit of air.

Mycroft stroked over his face. “Hey, little brother. Bratty, beautiful baby brother.”

Sherlock grinned. “I love this game.”

“Oh really? I'd have never thought!”

Sherlock pinched his side, making him yelp. “Brutal big brother,” he whispered and then pulled at Mycroft's earlobe with his lips. “Forcing me to take cases and punishing me for being nasty.” His voice was dripping with irony.

Mycroft had shuddered at the tender touch. “I'm amazed John Watson is still buying it.”

Sherlock snorted. “John is a great doctor and a fine friend – but he's still an idiot. He will never get it.”

“Thank God. I missed you the past days.”

“Ask me! It was way too long! I even had to wank a few times in between!”

Soft lips touched his forehead. “Awful big brother, neglecting you like this.”

Sherlock nodded and kissed his chin. “Not entirely your fault though. Or the government's fault. Was busy with this bloody case…”

“Real life sucks.”

“It really does…” Sherlock let his hand slide over Mycroft's long back and then let it settle on his firm bottom after slightly kneading it. His cock was already slowly lifting its head, shyly poking Mycroft's groin.

“I'm thirty-seven, Sherlock. Give me a few more minutes,” Mycroft said dryly.

“Mm-hm. Gotta be back only in two hours.” He didn’t stay away overnight. Too risky. John would ask questions and might even think he was in trouble. Better like this… No matter how much he would have liked to stay.

“Was it fun? The case?”

“Oh, yes! It was great! Thank you for that!”

Mycroft chuckled. “I knew you would love it when I read about the raccoon.”

Sherlock sighed and Mycroft pressed his slim body. “Wanted to keep it, yeah?”

“Yes. Nasty John didn’t let me… And Mrs Hudson wouldn’t have, either…”

“Ghastly people.”

“Hey – _you_ could take it and…”

“No, Sherlock.”

“Spoilsport…”

“Yes…” And then Mycroft's lips searched for his once more, and Sherlock melted into another long, wonderful kiss, passing the time enjoyably until Mycroft would be ready for the next round.

Sherlock loved playing with lovely big brother.


	2. Naughty Mycroft

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft visits Baker Street. Things get nasty. Later they get spanky, then lovely.

## Giving Lip

It had been a tedious, boring day, and it wasn't over. Only two clients in the morning and their cases had caused Sherlock so much eye-rolling that his eyes still ached. Nothing had come from the Yard, and Sherlock had even had lunch to pass the time!

He had also texted his brother but Mycroft had been too busy for a longer, let alone a heated, texting session.

And now he and John were on the verge of drinking tea and Mrs Hudson was just putting a box with biscuits onto the table. Oats! No ginger nuts! What was she thinking! He just opened his mouth to complain when he heard the noise of a door-knocker being straightened, and he closed it, his mood lightening up at once. But of course he kept the sour expression; he tried to look even more pissed off, if possible.

“What was that?” John asked.

Sherlock shrugged and bit into an awfully dry biscuit. “What was what?” he asked innocently while he could hear his brother's steps on the stairs. Really, John should be able to identify this noise by now…

“Someone's coming!” John said, turning to the door.

_Do tell… I bet at least two people in this house will indeed **come** tonight…_

Mrs Hudson, busy pouring tea for them, did the same, and then a slim, tall figure, armed with an umbrella, appeared, in grey pin-stripes this time, with the red tie Sherlock had gifted him years ago as a colourful contrast. Looking dashing, the British Government…

“Oh… Mycroft!” Sherlock said with a nasty smile. “You heard me eating, right?” He noisily crunched the biscuit, chewing with his mouth open to strengthen the effect.

A hint of a smile ghosted over Mycroft's beautifully shaped lips, too brief for John and Mrs Hudson to notice. He glared at Sherlock and leaned his umbrella against a cupboard. “Your jokes don't get any better with time, Sherlock. Now stop this nonsense and listen! I need you to talk to someone…”

“Mr Holmes!” Mrs Hudson blurted.

“Huh?” Mycroft turned his face to her, genuinely surprised about her harsh tone and probably the fact that anyone except for Sherlock was brave enough to interrupt him.

Sherlock listened with his mouth open – unintentionally this time – while Mrs Hudson was having a very unexpected fit.

“When we go into a flat, uninvited as I might add, we at least say 'good afternoon'! To everybody in it! And surely you can see your brother is having a well-deserved rest so could you please wait with your oh-so-important request until he's finished eating?!” Hands on her hips, the old lady glowered at the mighty man.

There was silence for a long moment. John gaped at Mrs Hudson, Mycroft looked like he had suffered a stroke, and Sherlock didn’t know if he should laugh or be upset that his landlady dared reprimand his brother-lover in such a scandalous way.

Mycroft could have said 'sorry' and done as he was told – for the sake of peace and politeness. But instead he narrowed his cold blue eyes. “With all due respect, Mrs Hudson – you are not in the position to tell me how to deal with my brother! And you are…”

“Respect! Ha! Do you even know how to write that word?! You don't respect anybody! Instead you think we are all morons, crawling to your feet to admire your power, you cold-blooded reptile!”

Sherlock couldn’t help it – he burst out laughing. And for the tiniest moment he saw a spark of delight flicker up in Mycroft's eyes – as usual only visible for him, because at the same time his brother's mouth was turning into a grimace of disgust and outrage for the other two. Knowing his brother wasn't feeling hurt and as always impressed by his acting abilities, he allowed himself to giggle, and John shook his head with a grin.

Before the doctor could say anything, Mycroft snarled in his best sarcastic voice, “If the shoe fits…”

The old lady gasped along with Sherlock and John, and then she pointed her forefinger at the much taller man. “You are not talking to me like this in my house, Mr Holmes! I don't care if you are used to have tea with the Queen and think you are Mr Perfect, you will behave when you set a foot in my house!”

Mycroft tilted his head and Sherlock could sense how much he was enjoying this debate. A warm feeling spread out in his chest. Oh, his big brother! So dangerous, so sneaky, so sexy!

He would have loved to end this exciting argument with kissing him and dragging him into his room and show him how hot he found it! As this was unfortunately out of the question, he stayed seated and followed the show.

“Mrs Hudson… Are you sure you want to provoke me like this? Are you sure you want to make me tell my brother and his dear doctor about your past? I know everything!” he added dangerously when the old woman clutched her chest in terror.

“Mycroft!” hissed John, horrified.

“Mycroft!” shouted Sherlock, aroused.

He was having the time of his life, just like Mycroft, obviously.

“You, you…” whispered Mrs Hudson, offended to the core, and then Mycroft's phone rang nastily loud in the small room.

“Apologies,” he said nonchalantly, pulling it out, and with an almost invisible twinkle in Sherlock's direction he took the call and slowly walked into the corridor.

“What did he mean?” Sherlock asked Mrs Hudson curiously. And why had Mycroft not told him about it?! Probably he had saved it for exactly such a moment, he thought. Mycroft was so cunning, always planning, always prepared for everything.

“Sherlock!” John shook his head. “You can't ask her that! Mrs Hudson, would you like some cold water?”

“Over her head or what?” Sherlock looked at the pale woman, who had slumped down on a chair, gaping like a fish.

“For drinking it!” John hurried into the kitchen and came back with a glass of water within half a minute.

Sherlock had taken turns looking at his shocked landlady and his brother, who appeared in the door frame every few seconds, quietly speaking into his phone, looking so sexy it should be forbidden. Sherlock's cock had long raised its head in his trousers, the bulge hidden under the table cloth.

“Here you go…” John handed her the water and she sipped at it, holding the glass with a shivering hand.

What dark secrets had Mycroft talked about? Sherlock knew about her drug dealer of a husband of course, but Mycroft knew that he knew it so he hadn't spoken about that. Had she killed someone? Poisoned them perhaps? He threw a suspicious glance at the biscuits.

Before he could tell her to finally spit it out, Mycroft returned and gathered his umbrella. “I have to go back to the office,” he said suavely.

“I still can't believe you spoke to her like this!” John said, pointing at the now very quiet woman.

“Yes, really! I will head over to you later to tell you a few things about that!” Sherlock threatened, and he suppressed a grin when Mycroft's left eyebrow was lifted for half a second. Oh, a nice evening was ahead of him!

“Yes, you will come over indeed so I can tell you about the case,” the older man answered with a voice so cold and condescending that Sherlock's cock started straining seriously against his flies, certainly causing a damp spot.

Mycroft really knew how to turn him on!

“Good afternoon,” Mycroft said with an ironic little bow. “John. Sherlock. Mrs Hudson.” And with this he was gone.

Sherlock stared at the doorway he had disappeared through for two seconds, trying not to drool, and then he turned to Mrs Hudson. “Come on now, just tell us! Did you kill someone?”

## Being Reluctant

A very smug grin on his face, Sherlock rang the doorbell once more. He was so looking forward to the next few hours! It didn’t happen often that he was the one in the good books and Mycroft was the miscreant! And as much as he enjoyed being at the receiving end of some lovely spanking before getting buggered relentlessly, there was an undeniable thrill in being the one in charge for a – very rare – change.

But he frowned when Mycroft opened up, speaking into his phone, waving him inside with a look of exhausted exasperation and just the hint of a smile.

Big brother, still wearing his suit from the day, looked as if he'd been having a hellish day and wasn't in the mood at all for some well-deserved discipline. Or was he just pretending? Was it just another game?

Mycroft barked into his phone. “I told you I will not have this messed up! I expect this to be done by tomorrow morning, nine o'clock! And now I'm in a meeting so I won't be disturbed until then! Goodbye.” With this Mycroft ended the connection. “Damn amateurs! Horribly dull _people_!” He literally spat out the last word – his hardest insult.

Sherlock grinned, feeling happy and amused. “Ah, brother, you… Wait… You don't really have another meeting now, do you?”

Mycroft tilted his head. “I do. With you!”

“Ah!” Sherlock beamed at him before he remembered his role for tonight and turned his face into a scowl. “We'll indeed have a meeting, brother! And you will take your punishment for being such a prat to my lovely landlady!” He slipped out of his coat and hung it up.

“Give me a break, Sherlock. Let's eat something first. I'm starving and I bet you didn’t get anything except for these ghastly biscuits, either.” Mycroft turned and stalked through the corridor.

Which was very true… But! “No, no, no talking out of it!” Sherlock hurried to follow him to the living room.

“As if I ever! Sit down, eat.”

Sherlock glanced at the table. Sandwiches! From _Sandy's Sandwich Sanctuary_! With tuna and cheese! His favourites! His stomach, the old traitor, started to growl at the view. “No! No eating before I avenged Mrs Hudson!” Massive manipulator, his sneaky big brother! Sherlock never cared about food, except if Mycroft presented it to him. Strange… Or maybe not so strange… Anyway!

Mycroft chuckled. “How this sounds… Has she recovered from the little shock already?”

“No! She's devastated! Tell me – what do you know about her?!” Mrs Hudson had of course refused to tell him and eventually John had gotten loud and he had gone into his room, sulking.

Mycroft just smiled.

“You have to tell me!” Sherlock would never sleep again if he didn’t know!

“I don't think so, no.” Mycroft looked very smug. He took a sandwich and started eating, wiping his completely clean mouth with a fine tissue after every second bite.

Sherlock scowled and grabbed a sandwich as well. He should have known Mycroft wouldn’t tell him! Not without some incentive…

“You'll go over my knee, you know that,” he stated with his mouth full, which he knew Mycroft hated.

“As if!” Mycroft took the second sandwich. He seemed to be really hungry, the poor man. Fucking government, not even giving his brother time to eat!

“But you will,” he retorted. “For being so nasty to Mrs Hudson and for not telling me her secrets! What if she poisons the tea!”

Mycroft looked very confused, then he grinned. “Nah, Sherlock. She hasn't killed anyone. It's nothing like that. Believe me – you wouldn’t want to know…”

Sherlock shuddered. “It has to do with sex, doesn't it?”

“I'm afraid it does.”

He raised his hand. “All right. Don't need to know it.” Some ghastly pictures couldn’t even be deleted from his mind.

“I might tell you though,” Mycroft mused. “Next time when you're being insolent… I've seen photographs! I could show you some…”

This time Sherlock was being shaken by shudders. “Evil blackmailer!”

“That's what they call me.” Mycroft gobbled down the third sandwich rather unceremoniously.

“Will not change anything though. You'll get your punishment for torturing the poor old girl!”

“Did you not hear what she said to me?! In which tone?! You should be on _my_ side!” Mycroft said with an expression of hurt and betrayal in his eyes, and Sherlock felt very guilty. For a second.

Then he shook his head vehemently. “No, no! No manipulating me any further! You know you were very mean to her! And you could have greeted her! And John! And me!”

Mycroft sighed. “I was in a hurry. The entire day was nothing but hurry-hurry-hurry.”

“I get that. But you could have apologised afterwards instead of threatening her.”

A grin spread out on his brother's handsome face. “I could have, yes. But it wouldn’t have been nearly as amusing.”

Sherlock was shocked. And delighted. It was a rare occasion - Mycroft showing his malicious side. Sherlock loved it. He also loved his funny side. His sexy side. His stern side. His backside. Every side, actually…

“Mycroft Holmes!” he gasped nonetheless, pretending to be scandalised.

“That's me.”

Sherlock was about to go on with the playful bickering but then he asked quietly, “You really don't like them, do you? John and Mrs Hudson?”

“They are your friends, not mine,” Mycroft retorted, defensively, and there was a flicker of something Sherlock didn’t like at all in his eyes.

Jealousy. Mycroft was jealous of his bond with his friend and his landlady. But of course it was more than this. It was a rare sign for Mycroft struggling with having to keep their much stronger bond a secret, being forced to pop by to provoke Sherlock to have any contact with him at all during the day. And he had to live with Mrs Hudson being not fond of him at all even though she had never shown it as clearly as she had today, while John was professional enough to be polite to him but didn’t like him either.

Yes. It did suck. It always had. And it always would.

But for now Mycroft should forget it. Should be allowed to let go of this horrid day and focus his mind on something different and entertaining before being thoroughly fucked through and then petted, just as they both loved it.

“Well, enough talk for now. You'll get it now,” Sherlock said sternly.

Mycroft nodded. And stood up. And smiled. “Come and make me, little brother!”

Sherlock's eyes opened wide. “Mycroft!”

“And off I am…”

And after him Sherlock was.

He caught him just before he could fully enter the bedroom. Well, obviously Mycroft had let him catch him before he would have been forced to break the door.

To his delight, Mycroft was up to a little fight.

“Let me go! I won't have you spank me for chatting back at your nasty landlady!” Mycroft shoved him back.

Sherlock grabbed his waist. “You were dreadful to her!”

“She deserved it!” Mycroft struggled to free himself.

“Bratty British Government!” Sherlock was hard as a rock. He managed to manhandle the taller man to the bed and they landed on it softly but Sherlock groaned when Mycroft's sharp elbow hit his stomach.

“You all right?” Mycroft asked him, all petulance having left his voice.

“Yes. But _you_ won't be for much longer!” He proceeded to get his brother out of his fancy suit, but Mycroft got all limp in his grip.

“Let me take a shower before, Sherlock. I'm all sweaty. And I really don't want you to rip off my clothes.”

Sherlock eyed him closely. Then he shook his head. “No shower. You'll take a long, hot bath.”

Mycroft's face lightened up. “Yeah! And you'll scrub my back?”

“Of course I will. But when you're all clean and relaxed…”

“…you'll thrash me, all right…”

Sherlock bent forward and kissed him for the first time on this day. “You'll love it.”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Love you.”

Mycroft smiled and something in his face seemed to melt. “Love you, too, little brother.”

“I would carry you to the tub if I could.” He saw himself in his mind's eye – carrying his man bridal style. A very nice image!

Mycroft destroyed it at once. “You'd smash in my skull on the door frame.”

“Therefore you'll have to walk.”

Mycroft allowed him to pull him to his feet, and they walked over to the bathroom with Sherlock's arm tightly around his brother's waist. He didn’t smell sweaty at all. He actually never did. But he did need this bath to get grounded again. Before Sherlock would ground him a little more.

## Taking A Bath

It felt like heaven – sinking against the back of the tub, which was covered by a blue tub pillow, the deliciously smelling water, just on the right side of hot, enveloping his sore body. While Sherlock had been filling the tub, he'd shaved and brushed his teeth.

No way would he let Sherlock fuck him without being squeaky clean.

From thirty times they had sex, it was Mycroft on top twenty-nine times. Not because he didn’t like to bottom but because Sherlock was such an enthusiastic bottom that it felt wrong to not let him give up his arse for him. Mycroft did like to dominate him sexually. He dominated everybody, every day. But it was nice to be on the receiving end once in a while, even for the spanking, and when the hideous hag Hudson had provoked him like this, he had jumped at the opportunity at once.

It wasn’t that he hated her – in fact he was grateful that she took care of his sometimes very careless little brother so well, just as John Watson did. But he knew she didn’t like him – well, he didn’t show her a side she could have liked after all.

But if he was honest, he resented her and the doctor for being Sherlock's friends, for spending all day with him, for being in the way of Mycroft being together with his brother in the flat. He could never drop by for a morning quickie or an afternoon shag – it was way too dangerous. And he and Sherlock had decided a decade ago that they couldn’t live together as it would be madness. Not only could their incestuous bond be discovered; their family, above all their parents, knew they had always bickered around after Sherlock had hit puberty. Nobody would have bought a brotherly explanation for moving in with each other. And if Mycroft's enemies knew how important his brother was for him, he would become an even more inviting target. Of course that could happen anyway but Mycroft would be able to negotiate a lot better if he could pretend his feelings for Sherlock were just dutifully brotherly. And then sneak behind them to stab them in the back…

No, things had to be like this – Sherlock living with John in Mrs Hudson's house, under the care of his friends, with stolen time spent in Mycroft's home. Three times they had managed a short vacation together in all these years - two days in some discreet guesthouse in the countryside. Mycroft thought they would have to do that very soon again. After months of very demanding times at work, he definitely needed some time off. And time off without Sherlock would be lost time.

While he was thinking, he washed himself thoroughly. Sherlock had left him alone, knowing Mycroft needed some time to himself after work had followed him home.

There wasn't really a case Sherlock should have taken care of. It had been a ruse to be able to see Sherlock during the day, in fact. There had been an agent who was in dire need of a reminder how to behave, but Mycroft would send someone else to him the next day. Better not involve Sherlock in MI5 matters if it could be avoided.

Mycroft did look forward a lot to the rest of this evening. Thrashing, bickering and sexy times. What was not to love about it? All time spent with Sherlock alone was quality time, of course.

And there he was, as if he had sensed his thoughts, his precious little brother – in all his glorious nudeness, his cock already plump. “Ready for a back-scrub?”

“Very.”

And a moment later, the pillow was removed and Sherlock took care of his sore back with deft hands, soaping and scrubbing and stroking until Mycroft was purring like a cat.

Of course his dick had hardened at the touch rapidly. The big fellow's rosy head was poking out of the foam. “Look what you've done!” Mycroft accused. “You'll have to take care of that.”

Sherlock looked down on his shiny knob and licked his lips in a way that Mycroft's dick pulsed out a tiny pearl of anticipated pleasure.

But then the detective shook his head, making his black curls bounce. “Oh no. First the discipline, then the fun!”

Mycroft sighed in false exasperation and got up, water running down his long body. “Very well then. Do what you must.”

Sherlock helped him out of the tub and wrapped him into a large, fluffy towel. Mycroft could feel he was vibrating and the fascinating blue eyes were sparkling.

And Mycroft was feeling refreshed and a lot more relaxed now and he was looking forward to the game. Very much…

## Spanking And Sucking

Sherlock was licking his lips once more. It was hard not to bite into this delectable arse, draped over his thighs so invitingly. A small, peachy bottom his brother called his own. Firm and rosy and smooth. He would only have to spread these perfect cheeks apart to reveal the sweet spot. He could bury his tongue in it. He could bury his _cock_ in it…

He pulled himself together. He would do both but before… He raised his hand and then placed a heartfelt smack on the right cheek. The sound echoed through the room.

“Ouch! How dare you!”

Sherlock giggled but then tried to sound stern. “You'll get ten! Will show you to never be nasty to Mrs Hudson again!”

“Ten!” Mycroft protested.

“Yes!” Sherlock wouldn’t smack him fifty times. This was his pure, strong hand, not a folder made of thin paper. Ten were plenty for his less thrashing-resistant brother. And Sherlock knew Mycroft didn’t sexually get off on being spanked like he did. For his big brother it was rather an instrument of meditation. Sort of… He did like it, too, that was the bottom line. Sherlock would have never done it to him if Mycroft had found it seriously appalling and had only done it to please him.

“Two! Next time you come around, you'll say 'good morning' or 'good afternoon' or good 'whatever'! Impolite man!”

Mycroft's bottom had wobbled deliciously under the blow. The skin had gotten slightly rosier.

“Never! Filthy, scruffy flat full of ragged people!”

Sherlock gasped. “Blasphemy! Take that!” And his hand made contact with the tasty aim a third time. His cock was hard – as always when he was touching his naked brother. Surely Mycroft was feeling his erection poking into his stomach. Served him right!

Mycroft howled. It didn’t sound pained at all. Of course he had a safeword, too - 'Honolulu'. Like Sherlock, he had never used it. Well, Sherlock thrashing Mycroft did not happen too often anyway. Usually Mycroft behaved. How delightful when he chose not to!

“Four!”

“Beast!”

“Five! Don't be so sarcastic to the old woman again!”

“Ha! She doesn’t even understand sarcasm!”

Sherlock giggled but went on with the thrashing, making sure the other cheek was coloured as well. “Six! Don't blackmail her! Nasty move!”

“Phh! If you had seen these awful pictures…”

“Six! You…”

“It's the seventh already!”

“Oh is it!” Sherlock smacked the now reddened flesh three times more in quick succession, alternating between the globes. “Eight! Nine! Ten! And over.”

Mycroft scrambled away from his lap and let himself drop onto his back. “Ouch!” he hissed theatrically.

Sherlock chuckled and threw himself onto him. “Silly man!”

Mycroft wrapped his arms around him. “Very silly, me. Tell her I'm sorry.”

“I will. She won't believe it.”

“Because I'm not.”

“I know…”Sherlock turned his head to nuzzle his face under Mycroft's smooth chin, and he kissed his throat, smelling soap and aftershave. He moved his leg so his thigh slid over Mycroft's still plump dick.

“Mmm.”

“Like that, huh?”

“Yes… Suck me, Sherlock, please?”

Who was he to deny such a plea? A moment later he had turned around, his mouth enveloping his brother's long, thick cock. Both of them moaned and Sherlock went to town. While he was deep-throating his brother with deft ease, Mycroft urged him to straddle his face, and then Sherlock's cock got the same treatment.

The silence of the house was broken by obscene and arousing slurping noises and Sherlock inhaled deeply when the whole of Mycroft's dick had disappeared in his throat again, sniffing his slightly hairy balls. He sucked and nibbled and teased and licked, but then he let go, not wanting to come like this.

He disentangled from Mycroft's divine mouth. “Time for a ride, brother dear.”

“I was so close already!”

“Ask me! But I want to come in your arse! Mark you inside!”

“Do you?”

They were lying face to face again.

“Yes! You're mine, you know!”

Mycroft smiled and pinched his nose. “And you are mine?”

“You know you don't have to ask! I'm yours and yours alone. In all ways that count.”

“I do know that,” Mycroft mumbled, pulling him close. “But sometimes…”

“Yes. Sometimes… And now move. Your arse is in dire need of being fucked.”

“Crude!”

“You love that!”

“Yes, I do!”

And the Holmes brothers shared a silly grin.

God, how much Sherlock loved him…

## Being Buggered By Baby Brother

Mycroft, spread out on his big bed, was drifting on Cloud Nine, panting and meowing. A tongue was working overtime in his arse. Was there anything naughtier? Was there anything nicer?

His entire body was shuddering while he was expertly prepared. A finger joined the tongue, accompanied by generous amounts of lubrication.

Sherlock didn’t urge him to get on all fours. He lay down next to him and just rolled him to his side so he could line up behind him.

Mycroft shuddered when Sherlock kissed his neck on that one oversensitive spot behind his ear, and his hard, sticky dick was pressing against his entrance.

“Tell me if I hurt you,” Sherlock mumbled.

Mycroft reached behind him to slap his arse. “Just saddle up, cowboy,” he said in a deliberately ghastly American accent. “Your horse is all ready.”

Sherlock giggled. “My horse is completely insane!”

“That might be true as well. Come on, fuck me, little brother. Fuck this awful day out of me.”

Sherlock gasped at the obscenity and then did as he was told while holding on to Mycroft's shoulder to stabilise himself.

This was bliss. Not having to move, Mycroft let Sherlock screw him thoroughly, his now fully hard member rubbing against the sheets. He was moaning and cursing, letting go of all the stress and distress of the day. Sherlock's audible arousal, his deep strokes and the weight that was pressed against him with every thrust – Mycroft loved it.

And then Sherlock changed his angle and hit his prostate, making him tingle deep inside, and with every push against this magic bundle of nerves, his arousal got stronger until he was pushed over the edge and pulsed into the sheets, the muscles in his groin contracting almost painfully.

He clamped down his arse around Sherlock's still hammering cock and baby brother screamed that his ears rung and shot hot spurts of come into him, and after the last one he didn’t pull out but pressed himself against the full length of Mycroft's body, holding him in a tight, possessive grip, just like Mycroft needed it.

“Honolulu,” he whispered, and Sherlock tensed behind him.

“What? Isn't it a little late for safewording?” he asked, concerned.

Mycroft smiled and turned his head to kiss the tip of his nose. “No. That's where I want to go with you. After Christmas.”

“What? You're kidding, right?”

“I am most certainly not. I'll make up a case. We'll tell nasty lies. Then a week in Hawaii. Perhaps even ten days. Disguised. Wearing wigs, probably. False names. The whole package.” Christmas was four months away. Plenty of time to arrange everything.

He turned to face Sherlock when his brother didn’t say anything. “What? You don't…”

Sherlock shut him up with a wild kiss when he finally seemed to accept that Mycroft wasn’t joking. They kissed passionately until Sherlock pulled back. “You really, seriously want to…”

“… go with you to a nice, hot place. Doesn't have to be Hawaii, actually. Any other tropic island will do it, too, don't you think? The less annoying people there the better…”

“Oh, Mycroft! I will suck you off every day just for that!”

“You would suck me off all day and night if you could.”

“Okay, yes, I would. That's… great. I can't wait!”

Mycroft couldn’t, either. And a part of him wished they would never have to come back. But in fact, it was all good. Not perfect, not easy, not enough but in the end, all good.

They shared a smile and then their lips met for another deep, loving kiss, and Mycroft knew they would cherish every moment they had together, as stolen and forbidden as it might be.


End file.
